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YALE UNIVERSITY PRIZE POEM 



1914 



*.<i>iijOgrapy, 



YALE UNIVERSITY PRIZE POEM 

1914 



MEMORIES 



BY 



MARJORIE LATTA BARSTOW 



Yale University Press 
1914 



PREFATORY NOTE 

This poem received the sixteenth award of the prize 
offered by Professor Albert Stanburrough Cook to Yale 
University for the best unpublished verse, the Com- 
mittee of Award consisting of Professor Charlton M. 
Lewis, of Yale University, Professor Frederick M. 
I^adelford, of the University of Washington, and Judge 
Wendell P. Stafford, of the Supreme Court of the 
District of Columbia. 



MEMORIES 



Theie was a time when meadow, grove, and stream. 
The earth, and every common sight 

To me did seem 

Apparelled in celestial light, 
The glory and the freshness of a dream. 

Wordsworth. 



TO MY FATHER 

I thought to paint the glory and the gleam, 
The transcendental wonder of the dawn, 
While yet the light on vale and wood and lawn, 
On misty mountain-top and foaming stream, 
Was lovely with the freshness of a dream; 
And childhood cast on knowledge half withdrawn 
The shy, bright glances of a woodland fawn. 
Half dazzled in the dewy morning's beam. 
And yet I see that in those days of old 
Thy spirit colored mine, and evermore 
My dreams were only stories thou hadst told ; 
And with my thoughtless fancies intertwined 
Were flowers culled from books, and poet-lore, 
And musings of a deeper heart and mind. 



SILVER MOUNTAINS 

That day I first began to live 

When first he clasped my little hand, 
Bright as a prince from fairyland, 

Or king who has all gifts to give, 

And laughed, 'Come, little one, away. 
Where skies are very blue and clear; 
Across the shining waters, dear, 

We'll sail until the end of day.' 

On city-waters had I been. 

That dashed against the dirty docks 
Sometimes a floating paper box. 

Or peanut-shells, or orange-skin. 

And these alone were known to me; 
So, when he spoke of rivers bright. 
And summer skies of smokeless light, 

I wondered how these things could be. 

And, wondering still, was borne afar 
Beyond the farthest city-dock. 
Beyond green walls of living rock. 

Where, clear and shining as a star, 



The waters laughed beneath the sky 

That touched their dancing crests with light; 
And, softly gleaming on the right, 

The silver hills went sailing by. 

The little towns and houses passed 

Like pictures in my story-book; 

And, gazing back with dreaming look, 
I wondered how they moved so fast; 

And, gazing forward, wondered, too, 
If that blue hill would never end. 
And looked beyond its farthest bend. 

For other scenes and marvels new. 

Beyond the bend, that wondrous hill 
Swept forward to the morning sky; 
The changing slopes went gliding by ; 

There shone the silver mountain still ! 

Beyond another turn it rose. 

Then, by my wonder half -beguiled. 
My father looked at me and smiled, 

'Perhaps it never ends. Who knows?* 

I could not tell. The morning light 

Had lengthened through the languid noon ; 
Across the hills we saw it swoon. 

And sleep upon the waters bright. 



Although the daylight slowly waned, 

Though time and space seemed both to pass, 
Like sand within an hour-glass, 

Those silver mountains still remained, 

Unchanging through all seeming change. 

And, when we reached our journey's end, 

Beyond the utmost purple bend. 
There rose, I knew, another range. 

Beyond, and still beyond, they lie. 
Like fairy-mountains of a dream, 
And at their feet the waters gleam 

And sleep beneath the summer sky. 



II 

THE OTHER SIDE OF THE MOUNTAIN 

A lonely valley was our home, 

A flowery space between two hills. 
Full of the voice of mountain rills 

Through rainbow-arches dashing foam. 

There, rising o'er one misty height, 
And stealing down the other slope, 
And waking youthful eyes in hope, 

The morning filled that vale with light. 



Across ten fields, a brook, a bridge, 
The slow sun journeyed all day long, 
And trailed its glory through a throng 

Of clouds above the western ridge. 

Then well I loved to watch the change, 
The sudden fire within the sky — 
To see the daylight flush and die 

Beyond the hills. Ah, passing strange 

And rich must be the lovely land 

Behind that mountain — realms of gold. 
Where princes rule from days of old. 

And diamond castles blazing stand; 

Or arched walks in flowery glades, 
Where feet of ladies lightly pass 
Like falling petals in the grass. 

And linger in the fragrant shades. 

Till through the flowers a sudden gleam 
Shall crown their golden heads with light. 
And their long trailing robes of white 

Blush crimson in that rosy beam. 

Or is it some black boundless plain, 
Where fragments of old mountains lie 
Blood-red beneath a bloody sky, 

Upheaven once in wrath and pain 



By giant hands that fought of yore, 
In that last age ere man was born, 
A mortal fight from morn to morn. 

And perished and were known no more? 

But father murmured, * Why so still ? 
A penny for your dreams, dear child/ 
And I looked up and shyly smiled, 

'What country lies beyond the hill?' 

'An easy thing, forsooth, to see ! 
To-morrow you and I will ride. 
And look upon the other side ; 

Then shall we both the wiser be.' 

And so we rode adown the dale. 

I saw, with wondering, beating heart, 
The misty mountains draw apart, 

And leave a wide and shining vale. 

And down that shining vale we went. 
And on and onward through the day. 
Till weary grew the dusty way. 

And loveliness that morning lent 

Had vanished in the noontide beams ; 
But my sweet land — I found it not, 
My rosy, fairy, fragrant spot, 

The sunset-land of all my dreams. 

lO 



Only the merciless great sun 

Blazed downward in the silent noon. 
I murmured, 'Shall we reach it soon? 

Oh, that this weary ride were done !' 

'It is,' he said. 'Are you so blind? 
Our weary ride has ended here, 
For yonder is your mountain, dear, 

And this the land we came to find.' 

I looked half-doubting far and wide. 
There lay the land I longed to know. 
Beneath that garish light, and, lo! 

It was just like the other side! 

I sobbed against my father's arm, 
Outwearied with the dust and heat, 
Till, through the burning light that beat 

Upon the hills, again the charm 

And wonder of the azure pile, 

And each mysterious sapphire fold 
Of deeper blue, and gleam of gold, 

Had wrought, to gladden and beguile, 

The magic that shall e'en abide 

Long as the ancient mountains stand, 
And, as I looked, my wonderland 

Was still upon the other side. 

II 



Ill 

SPRING FLOWERS 

'It is the first mild day of spring; 

Come, dear, put on your woodland dress. 

For we will roam in idleness. 
And you shall see a pretty thing/ 

Across the spongy fields we went, 

Disturbed two wriggling garter-snakes, 
And reached the fairy water-breaks, 

Where weeping willows swayed and bent. 

And 'pussies' stood up straight and bold; 
And alders by the brimming brook, 
Dangling their dusty tassels, shook 

Upon its waves their powdered gold. 

There, nestled in a hollow place. 
Beyond the waters' wayward floods, 
Some furry, half-awakened buds 

Uncurled in wistful, childlike grace 

Among the layers of crumbling leaves. 
He said, 'They are so sweet and fair. 
So soft and tender, blooming there! 

And yet, methinks, it scarcely grieves 

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These first-born darlings of the spring 
To leave their chilly haunts and bowers; 
To these caressing hands of ours 

With half a human touch they cling. 

But leave them, little one ! I know 
A place untrod by human feet, 
Where there are mysteries more sweet, 

And fairer, stranger flowers blow.' 

I cannot tell the path we took. 

The way was wooded, dank, and dim; 

Long, long, it seemed, I followed him, 
And fainter, farther off, the brook 

Merged its low murmurings in the breeze ; 
Till on a sudden there was light — 
A flash of flowers shining white 

Among the shadows of the trees. 

Each snowy blossom, straight and tall. 
Wrapped in its one green leaf alone. 
In maiden stateliness they shone, 

In stainless splendor over all. 

'Nay, dearest, touch them not !' he said. 
One shattered blossom's golden heart 
Lay in my hand, and, with a start, 

I found my fingers stained with red. 

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And, musing on that bleeding stem, 
He spoke of voices heard of old 
From wounded branches that had told 

Of ancient wrongs still felt by them ; 

Of lost, lamented girlish bands. 

Of whom one trace alone was found — 
A cloud of flowers upon the ground, 

That shattered, bleeding, in men's hands. 

Yea, once there grew in days of yore, 
Where fell a maiden martyr's blood. 
The marvel of a snowy bud. 

That, at a touch, was seen no more. 

Still falls the glamour of those hours 
O'er pages read in after days — 
The shadow of the woodland ways, 

And that white loveliness of flowers. 



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IV 

PICTURES 

There was a picture in my room, 
And much I loved it, for the face 
Would smile a little in its place 

When dawn first silvered through the gloom, 

Unsealing my young restless eyes. 
And then I watched that mother dear 
Who holds the lusty babe so near 

Her heart, while a glad angel flies 

To greet him, and around, above, 
Ten thousand little childlike heads 
Bloom in soft radiance, that sheds 

A gentle light upon her love. 

Dim memories of long ago 

I felt in that dear face, perchance. 
And in the grace of that sweet glance ; 

And that is why I loved it so. 

My father said, when I could read 
That I should learn in mother's book 
That mother's story. Then I took 

The heavy volume, proud indeed. 

15' 



Now I could learn and understand — 
Had I not read my primer through? 
Yet more and more perplexed I grew; 

The words beneath my tracing hand 

Were queer and small and strange to me. 
And blank to me the wonders there — 
The wise men with their treasures rare. 

The star that led them gloriously. 

'And is the second chapter done?' 
His low, caressing tones I heard. 
I pointed to an unknown word : 

'Kingdom — of Heaven, little one.' 

'Kingdom of Heaven!' Kingdoms are 
The realms where fairy princes dwell, 
And maidens sleep beneath a spell. 

In shining beauty like a star. 

'Kingdom of Heaven!' Heaven — ^yes. 
That is the deep encircling sky. 
Where ever-changing clouds go by, 

And burn in evening loveliness ; 

And gray as ashes in the night 
They vanish, and w& cannot know 
Or whence they come or whither go. 

Or where beyond the mountain-height 

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They find at last a resting place. 

'Kingdom of Heaven!' Vaguely sweet 
The words. Old dreams abide and meet 

Within their visionary grace. 

'Kingdom of Heaven — is at hand/ 

In mingled images it came. 

Among the clouds like sunset-flame 
The glorious great angels stand, 

And myriads of fairy kings, 

From far-off kingdoms in the skies, 
Come thronging on with shining eyes; 

And in the midst the mother sings 

Her little child a song of love ; 
That lullaby from star to star 
Ten thousand voices, clear and far, 

Echo through all the heavens above. . . 

And yet, do children dream these things? 
I did, but then I kept the dream. 
And clearer grew the treasured gleam. 

Full light from childish glimmerings. 



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V 

REVERIES 

Red lilies in the dying light ; 

Through blackened willows by the stream, 
A steely, gray, transparent gleam 

On still dark waters ; then the night. 

And past the lilies, down the walk, 
I went with father hand in hand; 
His words were hard to understand, 

And strange and serious his talk. 

He seemed to say — I do not know — 

That -dreams are false and foolish things; 
'T is not by fond imaginings 

That souls of men may live and grow ; 

That he himself had vainly wrought 
A flimsy fabric light as air, 
Had loved the good if it were fair, 

And rainbow-fancies more than thought. 

Not angel-borne through flaming skies 
The kingdom comes — in peace within, 
Which is a dearer thing to win 

Than all the flowers of Paradise. 

And of this kingdom of the heart 
He murmured. Deeper, larger grew 
The night, and breezes shivering through 

The dim-seen lilies made me start. 



I sniffed the night-wind redolent 
Of running waters, and the sound 
Of quiet purHng all around 

Came with that fresh and dewy scent. 

And plaining choruses I heard 

Of nameless night-things. Then I caught 
Dim intimations of his thought, 

And here a phrase, and there a word. 

I clasped his fingers close and tight. 

They were so large and soft and warm ; 

They seemed to keep me safe from harm 
In the great aw fulness of night. 

And, lost within the peace of dreams. 
Although he seemed so close and dear, 
His voice made music in my ear 

Like far-off murmurings of streams. 

And if I did not seem to hark, 

Or heed my father's teaching then, 
What did I more than other men 

Who weave their fancies in the dark, 

While still they clasp their Father's hand. 
And warmly feel Him dear and nigh, 
Although His wisdom is too high 

For their low minds to understand? 



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